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Cy fought back a tremor of revulsion. Buying and selling humans like livestock, like currency. He should have been used to it by now, but by God, he’d gotten so close to forgetting this life. What it was really like inside.
He should have known better. Life among the Veritas was never guaranteed. And now, it was all but lost for him.
“You’ve been parading her in front of me every time I visit. Don’t act so surprised.”
“Fine then. I’ll take the slayer, and you take Ashaline. Though I fail to see how I benefit from this trade.”
“You’ll bring a smile to Thorne Bathory’s face. And in doing so, secure yourself a place in his good graces. Isn’t that enough of a benefit?”
Varney smiled, exposing sharp white fangs. “I’ll have my servants prepare Ashaline.” She held a hand out to Karnstein expectantly. When he placed Cy’s chain in her hand, an opening appeared, and however futile, Cy took it.
Yanking hard, he twisted against Varney’s grip. He was human, yes, but he’d subdued stronger than Mirae Varney on the battlefield.
But despite her small stature, Varney’s strength was overpowering. With a fist to Cy’s jaw, she knocked him back to the stone floor, and then, wrapping his chain around her thin forearms, she drew his chin up to direct his gaze. “You have spirit. Thorne will enjoy that. His favorite thing is breaking the spirited ones. But the envoy will be here shortly. I expect you to behave. Do you understand, pet?”
“Are you trying to frighten me?” Cy growled.
“Not to frighten you, no. To test your resolve. The weak don’t survive the Bathory household. Lord Bathory won’t kill you at first, though. There are other ways of breaking a human. Surely, you know that.”
Cy did. He’d grown up in this world of pollution and despair, this world with a veiled sun. They’d seen every horror imaginable, newborn babies ripped from their mother’s arms, men and women flayed alive. He’d seen humans in cages barely big enough for their bodies, crowded in with one another and surrounded by vomit, feces, and the dead. There was nothing too evil, too sinister. That was the truth of this world—a world run by vampyres.
How many names and faces would be forever imprinted in his memories like a brand upon his heart? More than he’d avenged—more than he’d ever be able to. Even with the training he’d undergone, the skills he’d mastered, he’d never be able to avenge them all.
Still, he held his jaw tight and tense.
“You sure you can handle him?” Karnstein asked, chuckling.
Varney’s lips stretched into a sneer. “Absolutely.”
“Shall I send you with some Ambrosia to…calm him?”
She shook her head. “Not necessary. I want him alert and clear-headed for his first meeting with his new master. Now leave us. I’ll have Ashaline sent to your rooms this evening.”
Karnstein huffed and strode to the door, stealing one last look at Cy with a grin. Cy wouldn’t forget that face nor the torture Karnstein had imposed upon him during the two weeks he’d been held captive. Perhaps not now, but someday…Cy would be the one to end this vampyre, as he had so many others. And he’d take such pleasure in doing so.
“So long, slayer,” Karnstein teased before slipping into the hallway and disappearing.
Cy was alone with Varney and her slaves. She snapped her fingers to immediately draw two of them to attention. “Fetch him a robe. One of the white ones. It will compliment his pretty skin.”
Soft footsteps sounded as the humans turned to exit the room, bowing their heads in submission. When they returned, one of the young females held a white silk robe in her hands.
“Put it on him,” Varney said, and the girl stepped forward.
Cy opened his arms so she could easily slip the silk over his skin. It felt cold and slick. How long had it been since he’d worn something of such quality? The feel of it sent shivers down his spine. He pulled the fabric tighter against his chest.
“Not used to fine things, then?” Varney wore a wicked grin.
He seethed. She knew as well as he that the human rebels were unlikely to scavenge something as rare as silk. And even if they had, it was unimportant, unnecessary for survival. They’d pass up on it in favor of something heavy and warm, something to protect them from the harsh cold of nights in the wilderness.
She chuckled. “Well, perhaps it won’t be so bad for you after all. Being a vampyre’s pet has its perks.”
“There aren’t any perks to slavery,” he spat.
“My lady.” A timid young woman, dressed in only a loincloth, approached, throwing herself at the vampyre’s feet. She trembled, exposed and vulnerable, all her pale skin on display. “He’s here. Lord Bathory has just arrived.”
Varney straightened, her expression darkening. “Have you shown him to his quarters?”
The servant girl bobbed her head in affirmation. “Riley is providing him with refreshments.”
